


Redneck Mountain High

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Future Fic, High School
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 14:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4832483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The South Park gang are all hormone-plagued high schoolers, and Eric Cartman is throwing a house party. A look into what the kids are doing seven years after canon - and what happens as delinquent 4th graders grow up into dysfunctional adults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redneck Mountain High

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a free write about a party that turned into baby's first fic for me. Hope I did OK, and hope you enjoy whatever the hell this is! Thanks so much for reading! <3
> 
> Disclaimer: Unless otherwise stated, I do not condone the beliefs expressed by any of the characters in this fic, Cartman in particular. Also, as I continue on, a general content warning applies.

"Clyde, take your shirt off and lie down... hey, don't give me that look. You promised you'd be part of the dare, didn't you? Okay, good, thought so. Now: Red, I dare you to lick an ice cube from one of Clyde's nipples to the other," said Bebe Stevens, twirling a lock of curly blonde hair.

A group of South Park Elementary alumni sat together in a large basement. The crowd had centered themselves around a plush brown couch, upon which eight of the many 17-year-olds were packed together like Crayola crayons. Everyone else had to settle for a patch of gray carpet. It had been seven years since they were all 4th graders, and they were still playing the same old games.

"Oh my God," Clyde said, trying hard to stay deadpan while the crowd ooh-ed and whooped. The room was cold, and his bare arms were folded over his chest. "Why is it that the girls think of the weirdest fucking dares?"

Bebe crossed her arms. "After a while, you start to develop some standbys."

The party had been going strong for a few hours. Glossy red beer cups and paper plates had begun to litter the room. Several pizzas had been reduced to crumbs by then; the ghostly pie-shaped grease stains inside their boxes were the only indication that they ever existed.

Each wall was plastered with stylized posters of Eric Cartman, looking like a Communist dictator. Each was captioned with some variation of the phrase "ERIC CARTMAN FOR STUDENT BODY PRESIDENT.” He'd convinced Butters to draw them for him (putting the design through several revisions with an emphasis on menacing), and subsequently made a massive amount of copies — so many, in fact, that the school had to threaten disciplinary action if he didn't stop putting them up. Now, the extras lay piled next to the stairs, neatly rolled and available as free souvenirs. He also had pamphlets.

Meanwhile, the enormous Cartman himself had greeted the guests wearing a tuxedo, his brown hair neatly parted, a tall glass of sparkly yellow drink curled in his fat fingers. This party was devoted to the continuance of his robust political campaign.  
His success may have seemed a mystery to outsiders. A high school junior who normally spent all weekend at a computer desk drinking Double Dew, playing COD, and calling people pussies over headset won the position as President that year, beating out rival candidate and 4.0 student Gregory Newsom by a fair margin. However, to the voters, it was an easy pick. Cartman had made not-so-top-secret backroom deal where he'd promised free pizza and beer to his class if elected — and boy, was he delivering.

Plus, Gregory Newsom was a pompous asshole, anyway.

Red licked the ice cube across Clyde's chest to the sound of cheers. Truth or Dare was turning out to be a bigger riot than the preceding round of Never Have I Ever.

"Okay, Red, your turn!"

"Hmmm." She scanned the room. "Eric. Truth or dare?"

By that time in the night, he'd dropped the 'president' act a bit, and his suit jacket was crumpled in a corner somewhere. "Are you serious? Dare."

"Okay. I dare you to, um, hug Thomas for a full minute."

Thomas' thickset body jerked to attention as if he'd been slapped. He’d been playing with the buttons of his yellow flannel. "What, me?" He never quite looked like he'd had enough sleep, and that night was no exception. "Asshole! I mean — sorry, not you, Red. But seriously, did it have to be _me?"_

Thomas’ school was in the district, so when all the elementaries spilled into middle, Craig was eager to become friends and integrate him into the social circle, even though Thomas’s Tourette’s made him hesitant to attend social engagements. As it turns out, he fit in quite nicely... except for the fact that Cartman sometimes tried to give him new tics by power of repetition alone, and it sometimes worked. There was a point in time where he’d been peppering “Barbra Streisand” over his sentences a full two months.

"Yeah, that's kinda gay," Cartman said. "Have you got any other ideas that aren't, like, awful?"

"So what if it is," Wendy said from her precarious, cross-legged perch on the couch's armrest. She'd officiated countless games of Truth or Dare in her time. "Are you going to pussy out? It's one of the tamest dares I've heard! Ever!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, bitch; I didn't know I was required to play a game we all outgrew four fuckin' years go."

Stan, his arm flopped flaccidly over the back of the couch, gave Cartman a foul look as he nursed the beer in his cup. "Lay off, bro, she's got a point."

Kyle was more than happy to chime in. "Yeah, dude. This is what I'd call getting off easy. You dared Butters to drink a raw egg mixed with Tobasco sauce, for God's sake," He was probably the only party guest that had, insofar, drunk nothing but water. "By the way, is he still in the bathroom?"

"Whatever! God, fine, I'll do it. Thomas, stand up."

"Yeah, okay." His eyes flitted to Craig, a much more experienced partygoer. Craig flashed a corna in silent approval.

“Barbra Streisand,” whispered Cartman.

Although they'd enforced a strict "phones off" rule for the duration of the game, Wendy was allowed to use hers to keep time. The boys embraced in the middle of the circle. Thomas only lasted around ten seconds before his face went twitchy, like he was desperately trying to keep back a sneeze.

"G... gaylord!"

"Dude... what?" Cartman's eyebrows had knit themselves together. There was a murmur of laughter.

"Sorry! Sorry. Oh shit, dude, I'm sorry. _Fucking gaylord!"_

This set the tone for the next fifty seconds. Both of them were flushed in the face when they sat down. Thomas immediately began mussing up his blonde hair, and rejoined Craig, who gave him a fistbump. Most people had gone into hysterics, including Red, who smiled at Thomas and winked her heavily mascaraed eye. Her hair and lipstick were the same dark shade of cherry. Thomas smiled back.

"Haha, yeah. You all realize you're laughing at someone's neurological disorder, right? Exploiting it for cheap comedy? Wow. Real mature. You're all fuckin' disgusting," snapped Eric. Kyle, who was crammed near the edge of the group, visibly rolled his eyes. "Now Stan, since you seemed so keen on making sure I participated: truth or dare?"

"Truth. Lay it on me." Stan may have been drunk, but he wasn't quite drunk enough to take one of Cartman's dares.

"All right, fine," said Cartman, quickly deciding on a high-risk, high-reward gambit. "Which guy here is most likely to be in the closet?"

Stan hesitated, rubbing his strong chin.

"Like, theoretically? Uh, maybe Kyle..."

Debate broke out immediately. Meanwhile, Cartman was sent into a fit of hysterics. "Oh, yeees! Fuck yes! Bump it, brah." He and Stan's fists made contact, to Kyle's horror.

"What?! I like girls," he shouted over the din, his voice straining into the squeaky timbre it always did when he got upset. "I've always liked girls. What the hell makes you think I'm gay?"

Stan shrugged and laughed a bit too loudly. "I don't know? You get way too nervous around pee, bananas, and naked dudes. I said theoretically."

"Oh my God." Kyle had his face in his hands now. Once, in middle school, he'd had to walk out of a showing of This Is The End because he couldn't handle when Satan came out on screen with a giant, pendulous demon dick. Cartman had given him so much shit that day. The worst part about it by far, though, was that there was no knowing how many people had heard that story, and if he started to debate, there was a pretty good chance it would be brought up again.

"Yo, Kenny," Stan called. "Kenny! Truth or dare."

"Uh, truth, I guess," said Kenny, who'd been interrupted in the process of flirting with a well-endowed female senior and taking hits from a bong he'd owned since age thirteen.

"Who's the last girl you had sex with?"

All eyes were on Kenny. He licked his lips, taking immense joy in drawing out the suspense. His grin was crooked. More than one girl in the room was holding her breath.

"Mrs. Cartman."

Once again, the crowd exploded.

"Bullshit!" Cartman swelled with rage. "Fuck off, Kenny; you did not have sex with my goddamn mom!"

"It's the truth, dude! And she's not a girl. She's a stunning, radiant woman."

Cartman looked like he'd just seen war.

"Kenny, I always knew you w-were a badass m-motherfucker," said Jimmy, "But this is really s-something else."

As soon as everyone calmed down, Cartman put an end to Truth or Dare. Instead, he started a round of team beer pong — he and Clyde versus Stan and Jimmy (who, despite finding drunken ball-throwing to be a bit of a challenge while having to work around his forearm crutches, could absolutely not be deterred).

Stan played casually at first, easily tossing the ping-pong ball in a nice underhanded arc to one of the cups. Once he realized the room's attention was on him, and once Clyde had scored a few points, he began to ham it up a little. Backwards shots that flew gracefully over his strong shoulders. Shots from behind the couch. Shots while drinking shots. No amount of alcohol seemed to inhibit his skill, and he fared better than even Cartman and Clyde, both of whom theoretically should have had a higher tolerance due to their huskier-than-average builds. Instead, Cartman played in rage mode, missing most of his throws and slurring a loud, desperate "gahd dammat" whenever it was inevitably time to take another drink. Clyde did no better.

Two rematches later, a forfeit was in order, effective about when Cartman ran outside with a greenish tinge evident in his face. Stan and Jimmy locked hands, raising their joined fists in victory like true pros. Bebe waved imaginary pom-poms.

"S-T-A-N!"

\---

South Park High School didn’t exactly have much going for it in way of devoted teachers or rigorous academics. The only saving grace had to be its football team. That year, a healthy buzz of excitement had been palpable in the students and staff as the South Park Steers won game after game with Stan Marsh as a star player.

Kyle, meanwhile, had stuck with the sports scene through middle school, but eventually gave it up to follow academic pursuits instead. Still, he played the occasional game of basketball with friends and was confident he could beat Stan at a game of HORSE any day. It was a life not nearly as glamorous as a football player's, but less likely to result in a concussion.

That’s not to say Kyle didn’t get swept up in football madness. He showed up to nearly all the games, cheered on the Steers, and often covered them in the Sports section of the SPHS Sentinel. Oftentimes, he found himself more intent on watching Stan than the action itself. There were a few games where the brutal Colorado cold called for at least four layers and a pair of thick mittens, and the line to get hot chocolate at halftime was about a mile long. Yet there the players and cheerleaders would be, calves and arms totally bare in their green uniforms, red-faced and struggling to breathe in the thin mountain air. Kyle couldn’t help but feel empathetic on those days, and he wanted nothing more than to bestow unto Stan some of that hot chocolate after the game was over — but he knew the cheerleaders had that covered. In fact, they were probably lining up with filled mugs for the star player after every game. And not the shitty cocoa, either. The type with real whipped cream and little chocolate shavings. That’s how it worked.

He may have been a little jealous.

If the school ever won a journalism or theater award, there’d be no pep rally. But Kyle recognized there was something incredibly visceral about sports. It stimulated some ancient human instinct, the type you only feel in a large crowd, screaming your throat raw for bloody victory as chiseled young men smash into one another in pretend warfare. That incredible feeling is, and perhaps always will be, unreachable with the written word.

And now, Bebe had inspired a group cheer. The chant of “Steers! Steers! Steers!” was overpowering everything else as Stan smiled placidly and lifted up his cup for a toast. A mass of people gathered around, and Bebe Stevens took a group selfie. Most of the proficient football players were wearing their letterman jackets, including Stan himself, making them all easy to identify and akin to celebrities. Kyle joined in by clapping mildly, even though he had been laying low, hoping to God that people would forget about what had just happened in Truth or Dare. Not like it had been the first time Stan had embarrassed him at a party after one too many swigs of beer. He wondered if he was totally spineless for clapping for his drunk, stupid asshole of a best friend at all.

Either way, the party wasn't over. In fact, it had just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> And there concludes the first chapter. There's more, but I cut it here - to be continued at a later time! When it comes to side characters that have only been in the show once or twice, a lot of people are fascinated with Damien - which is awesome - but personally, I've always wanted to include Thomas from Le Petit Tourette in a fic, if only briefly. The next chapter should introduce what the rest of these crazy kids are up to (except for Butters, because we all know he's probably still barfing)


End file.
